No Alarms
by FauxGateaux
Summary: Robbing a bank wasn't easy in America. Even in Gotham City, where the crime stats might have made you wonder. Except Harley has a headache, the Joker is unforgiving, and things don't always go to plan. In the best way. Oneshot JxHQ-ish, focus is on the story. Comicky slapdash adventure, K for appropriate violence but no gore.


" _ **No alarms, and no surprises, please," or, Harley's Headache.**_

Robbing a bank wasn't easy in America. Even in Gotham City, where the crime stats might have made you wonder. No, despite the frequencies with which _attempts_ were made by every other two-bit, half-assed theme villain that managed to crawl out of mummy's basement, success was never a guarantee, even for the experienced. It still required that little bit of know-how, those miniscule muscle memories, to pull it off.

A windowless black van pulled up outside the South West quarter's Third City Bank. Vans like this always screamed ' _villainous activity',_ but then villainous activity also screamed ' _leave it alone or you'll get shot in the face',_ so they were left undisturbed.Harley Quinn and the Joker were tensed and ready in the back of the second van, the late evening sun blinding the driver and dimming the cargo space. Harley was impatiently trying to find a good spot on her head to tie her usual twin pigtails- every time she tried, it always seemed to pinch and pull. Her oversized mallet rested casually on the van door behind her, spiky side facing _away_ from her, while she rubbed her temples. _Her head was killing her._ The Joker was doing the best he could to pace up and down in the confined space, hunched and mumbling to himself. A knock finally echoed through the metals walls: he had sent the usual complement of masked clown guys ahead, in order to subdue the crowd and maximise his entrance. Make a stir, give the silent alarm a second to ring then cut it dead, that meant all that was left was-

"Showtime."

Harley did her best toothy grin at the boss, rolling her neck to try to dispel the tension there. A migraine has been building all day, and a bank job would not have been high on her fantasy to-do list today, if she'd had any choice. She'd been nursing a little throb in her temples most of the day, because apparently falling asleep hanging upside down on some old factory railing wasn't good for you. Who knew? So Harley had gamely painted her face, selected an oversized pop-gun, and prayed for an early bedtime. Two ibuprofen might have helped, but they had been chased by an unadvised swig of whiskey. There was no way she was drinking the tap water in that weird old laughing fish factory they'd ended up in again.

Sloping out of the van, the Joker frowned at her lack of usual pep. "You know Harley," he started, in a nonchalant drawl that was full of edge, "I don't _have_ to bring you along on these little outings." The implicit threat way clear as day to Harley. His black eyes frowned at her above the rictus showman's grin. "I could always just leave you behind one day- if you're, uh, not feeling up to it?"

Harley smiled wider and propped the mallet at a jaunty angle across her shoulders: she recognised the syrupy sweet tone of doom and impending Big Trouble, and resolved to put on a better game face.

"Sue you're not just afraid I'll _crack_ more heads than you, puddin'?" she squeaked, swinging the mallet in a pantomime of a baseball hitter. His smiled calmed and his black eyes glittered, letting her off the hook for now.

"After you then my dear."

It was like any other bank they might have targeted: upmarket, with glossy marble floors, polished dark wood, and lots and lots of shiny gold accents. The glare reflecting off it all made Harley's head swim, and when she shut her eyes colourful blotches danced on her eyelids, fighting each other for attention. She trotted behind the Joker, clickety-clacking on the hard floor just to up the annoyance factor. She stood against a long counter, facing the huddled hostages, and did her best loiter-and-pose. As the boss started in on what seemed to be a long speech about _reality and constructs, morality this, toxins that, what even is a bad guy?_ Harley shut her eyes for a second and concentrated on smooth, easy breathing. When her eyes fluttered open again, she watched one of the security guards, who had been dropped unceremoniously against the adjacent counter, inching his taped up hands towards a discarded taser. She sighed, loudly enough to cut the Joker off. He turned to her, thunderstruck with rage, but-

-BANG-

A single neat hole perforated the guard's hand, and he started to wail and roll about on the floor. She looked back at the Joker and shrugged, kicking the taser towards him. "I didn't want to get shocked. Did you wanna be shocked?" she asked him, perfect innocence.

He tipped his head back and roared with laughter, barely drowning out the wounding man. "Good thinking little harlequin. Besides, we don't want to be here all night, do we?" He cast his eyes upwards. "After all, the Batman just arrived."

A collective gasp sounded from the captive audience, which the Joker practically inhaled. A lumpy shadow creature fell from the skylight, because of course banks in Gotham would have skylights, with a dramatic cape flourish that saved him from splatting. He stood tall, and the eternal pair stared in solemnity. It might have been a perfect moment, but for-

"Oh, shut up, you big baby!"

Harley had lost her patience with the screaming man on the floor, and with one hefty swing, smashed his head backwards into the hard wood countertop, pointy-mallet-end first. The two opponents turned to look, one white face gaping quite widely, as she swung the mallet again and again.

"Screaming and screaming like a baby when I have a _headache_!" she shrieked, coming to a crescendo on the last word. "You deserved to get shot, buddy, and you deserve this." The mallet swung again, as she seemed to settle into an old familiar rhythm. The guard's head was mush pretty quickly, so she had all but forgotten Batman, until a sharp metallic thud sounded the collision of batarang with hurty forehead.

She staggered backwards, relying on the long handle of the mallet to prop herself up. She could hear the Joker snickering, could see the goons for hire scurrying out the door, sacks over shoulders, as an involuntary scream ripped from her throat. She charged blindly, pop gun up without thought- a flash and a bang, then a ricocheting bullet was loose, forcing most of the room back to the ground. Batman growled audibly and Harley raised the gun again.

"I am having the _worst_ day- I want quiet and I want dark and I want you to _DIE NOW."_

The lights flicked off, and a dozen people screamed instantly, drowning out Harley's soft 'oof' as something solid hit her and picked her up round the middle, hoisting and running at the same time.

"Puddin'?" she asked in a whisper.

"Of course it's me- who else do you think's gonna abduct _you_?"

She relaxed a fraction, flopping her head down onto his shoulder. She could feel a cool breeze on her neck; they were almost at the door.

–SMACK-

Harley made an awful whine of complaint as her head collided with the double swinging doors of tha bank. Her vision swam for a second, she definitely heard a low, malicious giggle, and then she was out of it.

Harley came to in much the way you might expect, after a knock to the head. She floated and dozed for a while, light filtering through closed eyelids, until her brain kicked in to gear. She sat up straight in one bouncy movement that the Joker had once smartly told her looked rather like a jack-in-the-box. He, of course, was sitting at his desk while she had been sprawled on a double mattress on the floor. The room had once been the manager's office, Harley thought, so it was small but a bit warmer than the rest of the factory.

His face gave nothing away, so she did a big sprawling stretch-and-yawn, pleased to notice that her headache had cleared and her muscles weren't in the least bit stiff. He remained impassable, leaning back in the desk chair, feet propped on the desk, eyes lidded. Just staring at the wall. He was giving her nothing to work with, and it both scared and irked her.

"Teacher told me if I leaned back like that I'd slip, and do all kind of damage to my head," she said, the annoyance winning out. She didn't move from the bed.

"Maybe teacher should mind his own business." He said it with a smirk, so she relaxed a fraction. Swinging his legs wildly he pulled himself out of the chair and onto the bed in front of her. She smiled widely, so he reached out towards her with one arm.

And pushed, knocking her backwards with a comedy 'whee.' He sprawled next to her. "I don't know how many times I've ever seen the Batman surprised." He stared at the cracks in the ceiling above. "And last night, oh, he was surprised."

Harley propped herself sideways, leaning on one elbow, in a parody of seduction. He grinned suddenly- "It's good to remind him that even you, little pretty kitty, can roar. And that, uh, floor guy? Well." He shrugged. "No big deal."

"These things happen," she whispered.

He nodded sagely. "These things happen, Harley." A smile began to stretch his face. "I don't know if anybody ever dealt with the Bat by telling him off either."

She giggled quietly and stretched her back.

"I was having a bad day."

The Joker turned, catching her off guard, and swept his arms about, twisting so she lay on top of him, under his arms. She gazed downwards, in loving wonder, and he looked back steadily.

"If I'd known that that was all it took, I'd have given you a few more headaches to worry about much sooner."


End file.
